bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,
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The Crossing

Title: The Crossing
8/41
Author: BmblBee
Paring: S/X
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: The Bee owns none of the characters or products named and
makes no money off anything. Sad state of affairs.
Warnings: Bad language, strong sexual content between M/M.
Second warning: Although I did do a lot of research, this story is not intended to
be an exact historical account so please don't scream and pounce on a detail or
two that may not be entirely accurate.

Credit: The snippets at the tops of the pages are from a web site entitled "Titanic,
A Time Line of Events". Earl Chapman on the Titanic Discussion List originally
published this chronology of events. Chapman modified it slightly in 1997. The
1997 version formed the basis of this timeline.

Summary: AU. It is the spring of 1912 and Xander Harris, who has been living
with relatives in Ireland, is heading home. As a gift of love, he was booked
passage on the maiden voyage of the Titanic with the promise that it will be the
adventure of a lifetime.

Author's note: This story is NOT a retelling of any of the Titanic movies.
It is the tale of one man and one vampire forgotten by history and the destiny they
both find on this doomed crossing.

Spelling checked by the gracious Silk_Labyrinth




As always, thanks to Petxnd for the wonderful banners and the valued friendship.


Yvette fussed restlessly with the large satin bow at the bodice of her new gown.
She had bought it during their shopping trip in the heart of Paris's fashion district
at a small boutique where Monique had tried on the one hundredth wedding
gown before, like all the others, tossing it to the floor in tears.

Monique was spoiled. She was mean spirited and whiny. Two attributes that
actually worked in her favor when hunting for the ideal husband. It made
her appear to be exactly what all French women should be. Aloof and bored.
She comfortably wore the childish pout that drove Frenchmen to distraction
and that women struggled to imitate.

It was the bait that hooked one of the biggest fish in the sea. Harrold Westcott.
He was old in both mood and money and Monique had set her sights on him
the first night they met at the Batele's dinner party.

He was a man of business. An entrepreneur who had taken a small field of
grapes, handed down through the generations, and developed it into an
internationally famed winery. He knew facts and figures and had built an empire
on the broken backs of the workers, field hands and those who eked out a
living on his scraps.

His home in the south of France was a showplace. It had servants, original artwork
and even the modern luxury of an indoor bath. The only thing it lacked was a mistress.
A woman to run his house sternly, yet be young enough to give him children,
hopefully sons, to carry on after he was gone. A woman sexually appealing enough
to provide pleasure at night and make his contemporaries jealous during the day.

Someone suitable to his new station in life who could take him from his soil roots
and make him part of the upper society he needed for the connections of success.

Harrold and Monique were a perfect couple and they both knew it.

So, the courtship began and ran as expected. She ignored him, rebuffed him and
sneered with rolling eyes when he asked her to dance. In the weeks that followed,
she all but took out a restraining order to keep him at a safe distance from her.

When they did find themselves alone together, she batted her eyes suggestively
and arched her back, causing her padded bodice to show teasingly as her cleavage
peeked from the ruffled top of her dress. She spoke in quiet, breathy tones yet
when he leaned in to answer or dared to touch her hand, she haughtily rebuked him.

When he could stand it no longer, Harrold went to her father and begged for her
hand in marriage.

He had chased her till she caught him.

Yvette had watched it all with envy and fascination, wondering how on earth had
Monique learned to do that so expertly? Was it an instinct? Would Yvette herself,
some morning, rise with the secret, hidden knowledge awakened within her? It
was very frustrating. However one thing for Yvette was unquestioned. Yvette
wanted what Monique had.

Not Harrold. Certainly not Harrold. Although, more than once, Harrold had
insinuated that he would be agreeable to taking a sister into his house after he
and Monique were married, and Yvette knew he wasn't talking about someone
to press his shirts.

No, Yvette wanted the security of a husband with money and home of her own.
She wanted the attention of being the bride. The glamour of shopping for
everything and anything and claiming it as necessary. Even as their Father protested,
Monique had made it clear that she couldn't possibly step into her role as
Mrs. Westcott in the shame and shabbiness of last year's fashion.

It was only after weeks of failed searching for exactly the right wedding dress
that the girl's mother had suggested they sail to New York and look for a gown
there. Just the three of them. It promised to not only be a memorable, and
hopefully successful shopping trip, but a bit of a tension breaker as well.


A change of scenery and pace to get their minds off the stress of planning the
wedding. Yvette's father was thrilled to see them go. So much so that he
happily sprang for the cost of the trip to be made on the stunning maiden voyage
of the Titanic.

It was there and then that Yvette decided to do some shopping of her own.
She was nearly 19 years old and would quickly be labeled an old maid if she
didn't make her move soon and this was a wonderful opportunity.

So, with plans and a checklist in her mind, Yvette knew what she would be
looking to acquire. She did not want a dress or a pair of frilly pantaloons. She
was not looking for a hat with huge, colorful ostrich feathers and not for new
shoes that buttoned up the side, although those would be nice too.

No, Yvette was determined to procure a husband.

Someone young, like herself, virile, handsome, dark and tall. Someone whose
touch would stir the quivering womanhood within her. That was what the
novel she was reading called it. 'Her quivering womanhood.'

Yvette always shuddered and giggled when she repeated that line. She had
no idea what it meant but from the shocked disgusted look on Monique's
face when she asked about it, Yvette knew it must be wonderful.

When they boarded the ship at Cherbourg, France, she was stunned. It was
like nothing she had ever seen. Even Monique was wide eyed and chatty, a
pleasant change from the sullen complainer they had come to know and love.

Evelin, their mother, was acting more like their sister than their parent. Laughing,
singing and skipping on the decks comically, the three were certain this was to
be the adventure of their lives.

From day one, Yvette had remained alert. She decided that to wait till they arrived
in a city the size of New York was foolish. Any man she met there could easily
slip away and never been seen again. No, she needed to find someone on the
ship. A captive audience who would have nowhere to go as she displayed all her charms
and female wiles. She would have him begging and promising the world by the
time they docked.

She laughed at the analogy. Hooking a big fish on the ocean. It was, after all,
what a woman must do. Men were so clueless. They had no idea they wanted
a wife and, like cattle, must be trapped and led into it carefully. Of course once
the ring was on their finger, they would realize that they were miserable before
and would remain eternally grateful.

It was the way it was in the world of men and women.

Unfortunately, the beginning of the cruise had not gone as planned. The men who
fit her criteria were already spoken for. Husbands with scowling, possessive
wives who gave her evil looks and held tightly to their men's arms.

The single men she had seen so far were equally unsuitable. Old. Fat. Widowers.
She was well aware of what they wanted with a ripe young woman and it wasn't a
respectable marriage.

The young men were too young. Most were children running and screaming like
wild unrestrained animals. Some even roller skating on the decks. Yvette resolved
that when she had children of her own, she would hire nannies that didn't allow
that type of undignified upbringing.

She had all but given up when they docked in Ireland. Dinner that night had
been a Godsend when the handsome Alexander sat down beside her. He was
perfect! Strong arms to catch a swooning damsel. Full lips for that first earthshaking
kiss. Dark, handsome features that would blend flawlessly with hers to make
attractive, perfect sons and daughters.

And rich. He was American, ergo, rich. From what she had heard, all Americans
were crude but very rich. She would, of course, have to refine and polish him to
meet her standards, but yes, Yvette Harris had a very nice ring to it.

Yvette had found her future husband.
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